


The Pillow

by writeskatelive



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, One Shot, figure skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:27:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21875149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeskatelive/pseuds/writeskatelive
Summary: Cong Han tries to muster up the courage to admit his feelings for his partner Wenjing Sui. Based on a little incident at 2019 Cup of China where a fan threw a pillow with Wenjing's face on the ice.
Relationships: Wenjing Sui and Cong Han
Comments: 8
Kudos: 15





	The Pillow

Cong could barely see over the bag of plush toys he was carrying through the revolving doors of the hotel. He truly pitied the little girls who volunteered to pick up all the toys from the ice after the skaters had finished their performances. The Chinese loved their pair skating, and they loved to throw their little gifts on the ice to show appreciation. They hadn't quite reached Hanyu level yet, but it was pretty serious.

He could sense his partner - Little Sui, as he called her - walking a few feet ahead of him. She was hugging a plush ice cream cone that was half as tall as she was, and she was wearing her gold medal under her Team China jacket. Her dark hair swooped under her chin, making her look dramatic and stylish.

“We did it,” he said. “First Grand Prix of the season in the books!”

“It wasn’t that great, though,” she said. “We can do better than that.”

He shrugged. “It wasn’t that bad. I mean, we won by 27 points. We should be able to celebrate. You want to get a drink or something?”

She frowned. “Oh, I’d love to, but I already promised Shiyue I’d go shopping with her and do her makeup on her new video. I’ll have to take a raincheck on that, bro.”

Cong winced. He had tried to ask her out three times already, but every time, she swore she had other plans. The first time, he had believed her, but now he was starting to think it was something personal.

"Well, good luck with that," he said.

She scurried ahead towards the elevator, but he didn't follow. He hated to admit defeat, but he was smart enough to acknowledge when something was impossible, and this was one of those things.

At first, it hadn't seemed so impossible. He had seen Cheng and Yang holding hands backstage, stealing kisses on the cheek, laughing and whispering and taking selfies in the rain. He had seen Shen and Zhao talking about love and teaching their daughter to skate. He had seen Pang/Tong get married after skating together for half their lives.

And sometimes, he dared to imagine him and Sui that way.

When he had first met that tiny, pigtailed eleven-year-old girl who chattered incessantly through every practice, he had never thought he could fall in love with her. But that was before all the injuries had threatened their career over and over. That was before the Olympic title had slipped out of their hands and they had spent the night crying in a hotel room together, their silver medals entangled. And that was before she had turned from a little girl to one of the fiercest, strongest, and most beautiful women he had ever met.

He started up the stairs to his hotel room, hugging the bag to his chest. Walking helped clear his head, and by the time he'd get up to the top, Little Sui would be in her room and he wouldn't risk running into her.

He had first admitted he loved her in the summer of 2016. Sitting in the waiting room while the doctors had performed surgery on both her feet, he’d realized that if he couldn’t skate with her, he didn’t want to skate at all. He had tried several times to tell her in so many words, but she always seemed to think he was joking.

"Oh, Cong," she'd say, ruffling his hair. "I'm so lucky to have a friend like you."

Friend was the most frustrating word in the Chinese language. Friend was a boundary that held him just out of reach. Friend was a ceiling he couldn't surpass. Friend was the opposite of husband.

He'd had plenty of opportunities to make a move. After the long plane ride to Italy for Worlds, she'd flopped on his bed and stayed out cold all night, leaving him to sleep on the sofa. At one banquet after Worlds, she'd gotten so tipsy he'd carried her back to her room. And of course, there had been the night after the Olympic free skate. But no matter how much Cong adored her, loved her, wanted her, he would never touch her unless she told him she wanted him to.

Which meant he would probably never touch her in his life.

Cong hefted the bag on his shoulder, opened the door, and flung it on the floor. A Pikachu, a mushroom from a Mario game, and a felt flower fell out. Cursing, he bent to put them back in the bag when his hand brushed against a silky pillow. The pillow.

The front was painted with a perfect likeness of Little Sui’s face, her hair braided back elegantly in that royal style she’d worn at the Olympics, her makeup flawlessly applied. Her mouth was pressed in an expression of unimpressed sass, and she seemed almost to be rolling her eyes. He had seen that expression dozens of times, usually when he tried to tell a joke. He had always fancied he had a great sense of humor, but she never shared his opinions.

In two and a half years, they would retire. They had already talked about it with Coach Zhao a dozen times. The goal was the 2022 Olympics in China, and then they would leave the sport once and for all. And his darling Little Sui would slip out of his life as if she had never existed.

He ran his finger along the edge of her chin. Every day for the past twelve years, he had looked forward to seeing that face. He couldn't imagine life without her. He had grown so used to being "Wenjing Sui and Cong Han" that he couldn't even picture being Cong Han without his Wenjing Sui. Their partnership reminded him of mutualistic plants, the kind that relied on each other to survive. And deep in his heart, he feared if he lost her, he would die.

He sank onto the bed, holding the pillow in his lap. He absentmindedly traced the line of her brows, her nose, and finally her red lips.

"Oh, Little Sui," he said to himself. "Can I ever be more than just a second dad to you?"

The dark eyes stared back at him, and he could almost hear her voice in his ears: "Not a chance."

He groaned and sighed. He had spent hours dreaming of the future he could imagine for them. He had seen her in her extravagant wedding dress, strapless with an abundant skirt of red satin. He had designed the two-story house in Beijing, although he knew she would have the final say on the decor. He had even pictured their little child - handsome like him, with her bright eyes and vigor for life. Or maybe it would be a girl, as sassy and talkative as her mother. Either way, they would take the kid on the ice at the age of three, Cong holding one hand while Wenjing held the other.

He couldn't die without telling her how he felt. 

"Little Sui..." he started. No, that sounded like he was talking to his little sister. "Wenjing..." He swallowed. "We've known each other for a long time, and I...over the years, our partnership has developed." No, no, that sounded like a business deal. "We've grown up together. We're no longer children. And sometimes, as people grow together, their feelings change."

He gritted his teeth. Now he sounded like he was explaining the birds and the bees to a curious little cousin. "For the past several years, I have been honored to call you my friend. But as time goes on, I've grown to care about you in a way much deeper than friendship, and I must ask if you could ever feel the same for me."

Okay, that was way too Jane Austen. He might as well ride up in a stagecoach and brag about his mansion in Derbyshire and salary of ten thousand pounds a year.

"Wenjing, I love you. I've always loved you, ever since we first met, but now it's different. I don't just want you to be a friend. I want you to be my wife."

That had a nice ring to it. But he'd have to save that for later. She wouldn't just go from friend to wife in the blink of an eye - he'd have to start smaller.

He focused on the dark eyes of the pillow. "You know, I don't have any plans tonight, so would you like to have dinner together?"

Nope. He might as well say, "I have nothing better to do, so why don't we eat together so I feel like I have some resemblance of a life?"

He tried again. "Do you like chicken? We could get some after the gala's done."

Well, that was dumb. Of course she liked chicken. He'd known that about her since they were kids.

Oh, here was a good one. "Are you hungry? I know a great place where we could catch some food."

"Sure," came a voice from the door.

Cong flipped around. Boyang was standing in the doorway, still wearing his Team China jacket, his gym bag slung over his shoulder, a Spider-Man doll and a plushie shaped like a guitar under one arm. His eyes darted from Cong sitting on the bed to the pillow in his hands, and he raised an eyebrow.

"I mean, if you were asking me, of course," said Boyang. "I mean, I would assume you were talking to me, 'cause there doesn't seem to be anyone else in the room."

"Yeah, yeah, of course." Cong stood, tucking the pillow behind his back. "Should we catch some soup?"

"Sounds good to me." Boyang peered to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of the pillow. "You know, for a second, I thought you were talking to that pillow there. It's a freaky likeness, you know."

Frowning, Cong pulled it from behind his back. There was no use hiding it now. "Yeah, it's really good. Too bad they didn't make one of me."

Boyang shrugged. "I thought the second dad joke was kind of funny. Joke will be on them when the two of you get married after the Olympics."

Cong almost choked on his next breath. "Ha. That's a good one."

Okay, right now he would go get some soup with Boyang and pretend he wasn't scheming anything. But as soon as those bowls were empty, Operation Wenjing would go into high gear.


End file.
